


Phantom Pains

by Smileymask



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Disability, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25396117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smileymask/pseuds/Smileymask
Summary: Kid and Killer lick their wounds in the aftermath of their defeat at the hands of the Red Hair Pirates.Kid discovers he wants more from Killer.Set during the timeskip.
Relationships: Eustass Kid & Killer, Eustass Kid/Killer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109





	Phantom Pains

For Kid, the phantom limb pain felt like the fingers on Kid’s left hand were stuck contorted at a weird position and he couldn't straighten them out.

The phantom limb pain had begun to set in a week or so after the surgery, though the residual stump had gone on to heal cleanly.

It was okay in the mornings, just a bit of pins and needles, but it got progressively worse as the day went on. Most nights it felt like a vice grip and hurt him enough to keep him from falling asleep.

They were trying to treat it with a combination of medication, massage and other methods.

For now Kid was on a combination of gabapentin and ibuprofen, and it seemed to be helping him a little. Doc had a stockpile of analgesics, antidepressants, anticonvulsants, and muscle relaxants that he’d bought from the black market, and they were still slowly calibrating an ideal regimen.

Doc wasn’t much of a believer in alternative medicine, but Killer took to researching a bunch of adjunct treatments. He brought them in under Doc’s scrutiny, under varying degrees of approval, ranging from recommended to wouldn’t-do-any-harm.

So far they had tried herbal medications, weed, acupuncture, heat packs, and a variety of other things. Massages were one of the treatments that Doc had wholeheartedly approved of, and it was the only thing that seemed to help Kid significantly. Killer came to the Captain's quarters around bedtime and massaged Kid's shoulders and back as well as his stump, and Kid would try to go to sleep right after. The massage table they'd gotten for the acupuncture had come in handy for that.

* * *

Some weeks after their disastrous defeat at the hands of Red-Hair and his crew, things were finally beginning to settle down for the Kid Pirates. The dead had gone through burial rites. The injured crewmen, even the ones who had been in critical condition, were all ambulatory. Killer’s burns had scarred over into new pink flesh, and Kid was trying to deal with things.

Kid was trying, he really was. For a while he’d been a shitty patient and Captain and friend, he knew.

After the staples were taken out of the amputation site and he’d been weaned off the morphine, Kid had been getting blackout drunk for a couple of weeks. He'd been in incoherent rages most nights, smashing furniture and putting holes in the walls, nearly breaking his remaining hand one time. His mind had kept replaying the point of no return when Red-Hair had just sliced his arm off like it was nothing, and the impotent rage that boiled up at the memory had no outlet. He had to numb it with something or else he would go mad.

It had felt like nobody got it. They were well-meaning, sure, but they just could not understand what it felt like to have an arm one day and then not have it the next. He'd been sick of their platitudes, like Doc saying that phantom limb pains got better in many cases, or Killer saying that he needed to give it time. As though his arm was going to magically grow back if he gave it fucking time.

He hadn't wanted to accept it; he just wanted his goddamn arm back. 

The phantom limb pain just drove him up the wall on top of that.

  
  
  


One day Killer had brought in some sort of mirror contraption, which was supposed to help the phantom limb pain by tricking his brain into thinking he still had the missing arm. It had felt like a pile of steaming bull to Kid, and he'd ended up brushing it off the table and smashing it on the floor.

The look of weary, dull hurt on Killer's face immediately made Kid hate himself even more. He'd felt like the lowest of the low. Killer did not even get mad at him, just excused himself from the room, telling Kid to clean up the mess tomorrow.

Kid had cleaned up the glass shards painstakingly with his one hand, and told himself he would get a damn grip on himself from now on. He’d really tried after that, stayed sober for the most part. The tired, resigned look hadn’t quite left Killer’s face yet, but Kid hoped he knew that he really was doing his best. 

* * *

Lately he’d been getting hard during the massages.

Killer didn’t seem to notice. He just wiped off the massage oil from Kid’s back after their sessions and left him alone to get dressed at his leisure.

The massages weren’t technically necessary for the phantom limb pain; the real therapeutic part was massaging the stump itself, and Kid could do that on his own. But having Killer massage his back helped take his mind off the pain, and it helped with the back and shoulder aches that were caused by the imbalance in his limbs.

The inherent intimacy of the routine wasn't something Kid had thought too hard about. It somehow felt appropriate for Killer to do it, even though he would balk at Doc or anyone else in the crew doing it for him. 

Anyway, the hard-ons; they might have been a purely physiological response, or they might be a reaction to Killer himself. But by now Kid was pretty certain that it was the latter.

  
  
  


Killer was training somewhere on the island they'd chosen as their hideout, one with an abandoned castle and a forest. It was lunchtime and he'd thought to take some food to Killer, and asked the lunch crew to pack up two lunchboxes. It was, to be honest, a good excuse to be alone with Killer.

Kid found him at a clearing. Killer’s fighting style needed a lot of open space to train, founded as it was upon constant movement and agility. Kid watched as Killer rolled, leapt, sprinted up a great height up a tree trunk and executed a neat backflip to land on his feet on the ground.

Killer whirled unpredictably around the clearing, every movement connecting smoothly into either an offensive or evasive maneuver, training until every combination of rolls, spins, leaps, kicks, feints, and saltos became second nature.

Generating that kind of hurtling momentum took a lot of muscle strength and Kid could tell that his recent weight training had made his spins sharper and his leaps higher and his slashes deadlier.

The stop-start of his rotating scythes caught the sunlight and dazzled Kid’s eyes.

  
  
  


Kid had always respected the great technical skill that Killer had honed. It was all the more impressive for it being a feat of pure discipline, without the aid of any Devil Fruit or enhancements. 

But now his eyes were drawn to the gold hair streaming in his wake, the flex of muscles in his arms and chest, the sheen of sweat on his neck. Killer was beautiful; Kid wondered how he had never noticed it before. Now that he had noticed it he could not unsee it.

Kid knew Killer could sense him with his Haki. Killer took his time though, probably finishing some routine that he must have had in his mind, before calling out, “What brings you here, Kid?”

“Brought you some lunch,” Kid said.

“Hey, thanks.” Killer said, and came over to Kid to take a lunchbox from him.

They sat on the grass and ate their lunch companionably. The silence was pleasant and familiar, though Kid had this new awareness of Killer’s physical presence that had never been there before, like Killer was suddenly made of metal.

Killer looked like he was in a good mood, his unmasked face quite peaceful. Kid drank in glances of Killer’s sharp profile as he ate. Kid felt like he was bathed in sunlight, all giddy while he was next to Killer. At the same time, he couldn’t wait for nighttime to come, so that Killer’s hands would be on his skin again.

* * *

That night, Killer had come over to Kid’s room as usual. The massage session was coming to a close, Killer having kneaded Kid’s stump and rubbed circles around the amputation site.

Kid had gotten hard again.

He'd usually just stay on his stomach after it was over, but tonight he was struck with the impulse to turn over and show Killer what his touch did to him. 

The idea was a blinding epiphany that blew his mind and set fire to his groin and squeezed his heart in one moment.

If he thought too much, the moment would be gone forever. 

He turned over as Killer made to leave, and grabbed his wrist.

Killer tilted his mask questioningly. 

"I want you to touch me down there," Kid said.

His raging hard-on cheered exultantly and told him that it was a great idea, while his brain regretted it the second the words came out of his mouth.

Kid waited for Killer to laugh it off, or give Kid a good whack on the head for his unfunny joke.

But Killer had paused, and he seemed to be considering it.

Kid stared dumbfounded into Killer’s mask as he pulled down Kid’s pants and boxers all the way off his feet, leaving him buck naked on the massage table.

"You sure this is what you mean?" Asked Killer, a bit sternly.

"Yeah," Kid breathed, a bit awed.

Without much preamble, Killer slicked his hand with the massage oil and wrapped it around Kid's hard-on.

His warm, calloused hand felt indescribable on Kid’s dick. Killer applied a good, firm pressure as he stroked, adding a slight twist to the vertical movement. His thumb rubbed circles on his head deliberately.

Kid momentarily saw an image of Killer’s hands, gripped securely around the guards of his scythes, and thought he might cum right then and there.

But he wanted this to last as long as it could.

Killer slowed down the movements of his hand and took off his mask.

Kid stared in disbelief, watching Killer’s lips wrap around his erection. His eyes were shielded by his lashes, and his nose pressed into Kid’s pubic hair as he took Kid's whole length inside his mouth.

Killer's hair fell into his face as he moved up and down Kid's cock. Kid absolutely needed to keep looking at him, and he brushed it out and held it away from Killer's face in a loose handful.

He waited for Killer to lift his eyes to look into his face, too, but he did not once do so.

He sucked at a firm, steady pressure, one hand pressed reassuringly into Kid's thigh and the other oiled one coming up to fondle his balls gently. Kid was straining, breathing heavily, trying with all his might not to cum.

Killer sped up his tempo and his fingers pressed into Kid’s perineum and Kid came before he could gasp out a warning. Killer held him in his mouth until he softened, and released him and turned around to pick up his mask.

The hollow feeling after orgasm didn’t even have time to settle in, as Kid was getting rapidly drowsy.

Killer had swallowed: Kid heard him say, "Get some sleep, Kid," as Kid drifted off.

* * *

Kid woke up naked in his bed the next day. Killer had apparently carried him off the massage table and tucked him into the bed after Kid had fallen asleep.

Kid was at a loss as to what to do. It would be easy to pretend that nothing had happened; Killer would make sure that was how things turned out. When he stepped out the door, Killer would probably greet him in that usual laconic way of his, everything hidden under that goddamn mask.

But Kid did not want to let this slide.

He wasn’t sure what to think of the encounter last night; Killer hadn’t whacked him upside the head for bringing up the idea, which was a win, but Kid wouldn’t say he was entirely happy with how it went, either.

He should have stayed awake afterwards and talked about it.

He had to know what exactly Killer thought of the incident. He looked for Killer around the ship, but the crew told him that he had taken a boat to go out and shop for supplies.

It wasn’t like Killer to leave the island unannounced.

Killer had been spending hours every day working out at the gym lately. Apparently he'd felt it too, the sheer, insurmountable difference of power between the Red Hair Pirates and themselves, and decided that he needed to get stronger. 

Kid knew that he, too, had a lot of catching up to do. He was aware that he had more pressing concerns than this thing that was going on with Killer, even though Killer took up so much of his thoughts these days.

It felt like the world was moving on inexorably without them, while the Kid Pirates were aimlessly adrift in the New World.

Trafalgar had racked up an impressive number of casualties in the Rocky Port incident - Kid couldn't help but be impressed by the cruelty and innovativeness of the act.

Basil Hawkins and Scratchmen Apoo were steadily building up their own bounties in the New World, their progress so far unhindered by any of the Yonko.

Straw Hat had disappeared off the face of the earth after pulling the Ox Bell stunt.

Blackbeard had totally destroyed the remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates. Good for him, Kid had thought; it was as things should be, out with the old and in with the new.  
  


But it was sometimes hard to recall what exactly it was that Kid was trying so hard to achieve.

The Kid Pirates had attacked Red-Hair because he’d been a member of Roger’s crew, and had the smallest territory out of the Yonko by far. One couldn’t help but wonder why Red-Hair was sitting on his ass when he had to know what the One Piece was, when he was so close to getting his hands on it if he tried.

The Kid Pirates had been trying to find any lead that might give a clue to where or what the One Piece was. Killer had found something called Poneglyphs, some artifact of the Ancient Kingdom; but they had no idea how they connected to the One Piece, or how to go about finding one.

Killer was widely versed in history, legends, and apocrypha, and had an eerie knack of pinpointing a deeper meaning in the tangle of events and metaphor and obscure references.

The One Piece, itself, had been a bedtime story that Killer had told Kid when they were children. He’d told him that it was a secret treasure that the Pirate King found that made him stronger and freer than anyone else in the seas. Maybe to Killer the story of Gold Roger had merely been another intellectual riddle to interpret, but to Kid it had become nothing less than his life’s purpose.

Pirate King, One Piece, strong and free - those words had caught the heart of the trampled and angry child that Kid had been, and had never let go of it yet.

It seemed pretty nebulous to think about it as a grown adult. But along the search for whatever it was, Kid had indeed been getting stronger, freer. Maybe the One Piece might turn out to be some bullshit like the friends you find along the way, but for now there really wasn’t much of a difference whether the One Piece was a tangible thing or just a distant guiding star.

* * *

Killer came back to the island at dinnertime. He did greet Kid in his usual laconic way, hidden under that damn mask. Apparently he’d been out to order some furniture and a den-den projector to put in the hideout. It wasn’t anything Killer needed to do himself, and Kid felt like he might have been snubbed.

Kid had started to feel a jittery nervousness as bedtime approached; he downed a few beers, just enough to give him a buzz.

He was painfully hard throughout the massage, and he couldn’t really figure out what he wanted to say to Killer. He turned over a jumble of words in his head - that he wanted Killer, was sorry for falling asleep on him last night, that he wanted to know if Killer wanted him as well.

In the end his dick made his decision for him again, and Kid just blurted out the issue that was pressing onto the table.

“Killer, I really want you to fuck me.”

Maybe Killer would cuff him over the head this time; but he didn’t.

“You got a condom?” Killer asked.

He didn't have any. “Just give it to me raw,” Kid said.

Killer wordlessly took off his mask, and stripped out of his shirt and jeans.

With an unreadable look in his eyes he drew Kid up from the massage table and put him in his bed, face-down.

The slick sound of Killer stroking his dick to hardness sounded too loud echoing in the room.

“You tell me if you're not into it, okay?” Killer said.

Are _you_ into it, Kid wanted to ask, but just said, "I'm into it."

Killer sat next to him, thigh pressed into Kid’s side. His fingers rubbed at Kid’s cleft, pausing for a moment in silent request before sinking one slicked finger inside.

Killer had apparently done this before, preparing a partner for penetration. His wide fingers moved gently inside Kid, opening him up methodically.

As thick as he and Killer were, they had never really talked about their sex lives. Well, not since Kid had been a teenager and Killer had put the fear of God into him by regaling him with horror stories of STDs and pregnancies.

Killer was very private about it, and Kid could never recall Killer picking anyone up when they and the crew went out for drinks onshore. Anyway, he didn't want to think of Killer fucking someone else, definitely not now. It made him riled up in ways he didn't want.

“Give it to me, Killer,” Kid said.

The bed shifted as Killer positioned himself above him. Kid felt the blunt press of Killer’s flesh parting his flesh, Killer’s hot breath at his neck, Killer’s hair cascading down and tickling his ears and cheeks, all muffled ever so slightly with the buzz of alcohol.

It was what Kid had craved without being aware that he had wanted it. He let out a husky sigh as Killer dragged his cock out and sank it in again. He almost couldn’t believe this was happening, with his best friend and partner.

Killer turned them to their sides and moved slow and shallow, arm snaking around Kid's torso to palm Kid's dick with his oil-slick hand. He jerked Kid off, firm and steady, with the clear intent to get him off as efficiently as possible.

Kid wondered if this was how Killer touched himself when he was alone in the next room.

For a moment he let himself be lost in the sensations - the warm press of Killer at his back, Killer’s strong arm wrapped around his torso, reaching at Kid’s dick, the wet slide of their flesh where they connected, Killer’s shallow thrusts hitting Kid’s prostate.

The pressure built in his dick, being stroked with expert care.

Kid came into Killer's hand with a harsh groan.

Killer pressed Kid face-down on the bed again and started chasing his own orgasm. Killer's deep strokes felt so good in his ass even after he was all spent, picking up in speed and intensity.

“Gonna cum, Kid,” Killer said breathlessly.

He came with a muted grunt, stilling inside and collapsing on top of Kid for a brief, wonderful moment.

He pulled out gingerly and wiped his hands off, and then cleaned Kid up too.

“You feeling better?” Killer asked. Kid felt Killer stroking his hair a little, fondly, and pulling up the sheets to cover Kid’s shoulders.

“Get some sleep, Kid,” Killer said.

Still lying prone on the bed, he could hear Killer tidying up, pulling his shirt back on. And suddenly Kid felt as though he would cry.

Because this was not what he’d wanted at all. But really, what had he been expecting, for Killer to draw him into his arms and confess his undying love? But that was, Kid now realized with despair, exactly what he wanted.

“Killer,” he begged, “stay with me tonight.”

Killer, acquiescent as always, joined him on the bed.

Kid embraced Killer in his one arm and pressed his lips desperately to Killer's mouth. He wished he could impart to Killer this confusing desire he was feeling, because words seemed to escape him just now.

But Killer pulled away. “What's up with you, Kid?” He asked.

“I love you, Killer,” Kid muttered forlornly.

Killer stilled for a beat, but soon his hand came up to rub his back comfortingly. “I love you too, Kid, you know that, right?” 

Killer pressed a kiss to Kid's head. "I'll be here until you fall asleep, get some rest."

Kid would actually like him to be here until the morning, but for now he'd take what Killer would give him.

* * *

Killer was gone when he woke up. Kid felt a wave of bitterness rise in his throat. It was so typical of him.

When Kid ambled out for breakfast he learned that Killer had left the island again today. Twice was a pattern - Killer was definitely avoiding him now. Kid really regretted that damn fool idea to proposition him in the first place.

Maybe Kid should have surprised him with flowers and chocolates or something stupid like that instead. He doubted Killer would have taken that any better, but at least it was a more accurate gesture of Kid's intentions.

He wondered if Killer had taken it as an order; which was flat-out unlikely, because their relationship was, at its core, an equal partnership and Killer had never taken orders from him before.

Or if it had been another one of Killer's sacrifices, that damn fixation he had with flinging himself into danger or taking on burdens because he felt like it was his duty. If he'd thought, Kid needs this, this would ease Kid's pain, and had offered himself up as medication.

Or if the act had meant so little to Killer that it didn't even occur to him that it should be a big deal.

He felt angry at Killer, too - if he hadn't wanted to do it, what was stopping him from fucking saying so? It wasn't like Kid was dying and it was his deathbed wish to get a blowjob from Killer.

Kid wasn’t happy just getting off from Killer’s body. He wanted the right to run his hands through Killer's hair, taste his lips and intertwine his calloused fingers with his own, rest Killer's head in his lap.

He knew Killer loved him, that was beyond any doubt, but he wanted Killer to love him in the other sense of the word, for Killer to be his partner in the other sense as well.

* * *

The day went slow when Killer wasn’t around.

It was frustrating to do everything with one hand. Kid had to think of workarounds just to do the simplest of things, like buttering his bread at breakfast or trying to put on his goggles on his head or buckling his belt after he went to the can or trying to load up the leads in his mechanical pencils. Everything was a goddamn chore and everything took so long.

Kid and Killer had been pretty independent of each other before Kid lost his arm, certainly not attached at the hips. But now Kid needed Killer’s help an embarrassing amount of time.

Like the massages, or putting on nail polish, there were a lot of little things for which Kid had to depend on Killer now, because it was too intimate to be done by anyone else. Kid was trying to find ways to do those things himself eventually, but he hadn’t resented having to rely on Killer in the meantime. Killer had never complained about the responsibility, either.

As much as Kid knew Killer deserved his own time and his own space, he couldn’t help but feel abandoned that Killer had gone off on his own without telling him. He was pissed at Killer for leaving him high and dry, for disappearing without giving him a chance to talk things out.

* * *

Kid turned Killer away when he came around for the massage that night, stewing in a black pit of hurt and disappointment.

Kid needed to talk to him eventually, though; Kid was being childish and he knew it. He wanted to see Killer, too. He missed him.

Kid prowled around the whole ship until he found Killer alone in the skull's mouth, brooding over the sea. That was good. They had relative privacy here, unless they ended up yelling.

“Kid? What are you doing up?”

“Bothered by something.”

“I can tell, talk to me then.”

Kid bit the bullet. “Did you fuck me last night just because I asked? Were you into it at all?”

“That's what was eating you? You don't need to worry about that,” Killer said. “I've been wanting to do that for a while, now.”

“So you’d say you still want me that way?”

“How could I not?” Killer said, matter-of-fact as anything. “You're magnificent; you’re like fire.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?” This part kind of hurt to say. “Why didn't you sleep next to me?”

“That's a line I don't think we should cross,” Killer told him firmly.

“What line? We already fucked,” Kid pointed out.

“Yeah, but sex doesn't always have to mean something. I'd argue that kissing and sleeping over do.”

“Why can't we be that way, then? Why can't it mean something?”

“What do you mean, exactly, by ‘that way?’”

“I want to be exclusive. I want us to be lovers.”

“That’s a pretty big leap,” Killer said. “Let’s say that I came to you, maybe a few months ago, and told you I wanted us to be lovers all of a sudden. Would you have taken me seriously then?”

Kid could kind of see what Killer meant, but he couldn’t understand why Killer was being so dismissive, not even willing to meet him halfway.

“Anyway, I’m sorry I wasn’t as considerate as you wanted,” continued Killer. “But I hope we can put it behind us.”

“Damn it, Killer,” Kid pleaded, “that’s not what I’m trying to say and you know it. Please let’s go to my room and talk about it there. I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you; at least take off the mask when I do that.”

  
  


They went to the Captain’s quarters. Kid undid the locking mechanism on Killer’s mask and removed it from his head.

Killer submitted to it but his face underneath looked cornered and defeated. It hurt Kid’s heart that such an expression would be on his face - was it because he found Kid’s feelings unwelcome, and he was dreading having to disappoint Kid?

Kid had to admit that he’d never once considered the possibility that Killer might not return his feelings; that was his great hubris, his great folly to have taken Killer’s regard for granted.

But Kid had to see this confession through, lay it all out there for once even if he was being selfish by doing so.

“I mean it, Killer,” said Kid. “I’m in love with you. If you don’t feel the same I’ll accept it, but you never said that’s the reason you’re against this.”

“You’re right, I am in love with you,” said Killer. “But I can’t understand how you don’t see this is a bad idea.”

“So we’re in love with each other - what’s the problem? I’m sorry I came on to you so sudden, what can I do to prove how I feel about you?”

“I’m sure you feel that way now,” Killer said. He seemed agitated, for once, struggling for words, his usual demeanor boiling over into pain and anger. “But I don’t know - I'm really too dependent on you already.

“My life is all about you, I'm not driven to find the One Piece for myself or anything big like that. Not saying I have a problem with that, but it would hurt me if I had you all to myself for a while and you later decide you don't want this anymore. Maybe you can brush it off, but I can't.”

Maybe Kid had gone about this the wrong way. He'd inadvertently tread on some wound Killer had been nursing for a while. But Kid couldn't help that he'd fallen in love just now. It didn't render his feelings any less real because it had been a belated discovery.

He wished he could make Killer understand that Kid’s fate was inextricably tied down to Killer as well, that the One Piece was just as much for Killer as it was for himself. That some part of his heart knew that he would devote himself to Killer forever, even if Killer would not believe it.

He didn't understand why their love should change their relationship; they were already linked together more closely than any brothers, or partners, or friends had any right to be.

Killer was looking at him with an old, weary sadness, waiting for Kid to find his words. 

“It’s not a one-way exchange between us, Killer.” Kid began. 

“It’s been so obvious over the last few weeks that I need you too, maybe more than you’ll ever need me. You’re the most important person in my life and you’ll always come first for me. And it’ll hurt me just as much if this didn’t work out, you’re wrong if you think I can just brush this off. But I love you so much. I want us to try anyway.

“So be my boyfriend, my lover, whatever, please give me a chance.”

Kid hoped Killer would read between his clumsy lines, understand his meaning. Killer was good at that.

Killer gave a huff of laughter. “You make it sound so simple.” He smiled now, a bit wistfully.

“I can't ever say no to you, huh?” Killer continued mildly. But Kid knew that he was moved, because he could see a sheen of wetness in Killer's grey-blue eyes.

* * *

They faced each other's nakedness, Killer reclining on the bed, Kid kneeling between his legs. For a while, they couldn’t look at each other directly, as the sight was too intense.

Kid was flushed all over, down to his nipples. It didn’t show much on Killer but there was a high spot of red on his cheeks and forehead.

The contrast of their skin, pale and tan, gave Kid inordinate pleasure.

Killer pulled Kid on top of him and kissed him again. Killer kissed like he meant it, heavy and deliberate, and Kid understood it was Killer's way of letting him know that he'd wanted this for a long time. Killer's hand cupped the back of Kid's head, and his tongue pressed into Kid’s mouth. Kid was happy to slide it against his own, just as their erections ground together between them.

“I really want to fuck you this time,” said Kid.

“Okay. I've never bottomed, though.” 

“We can do it the other way if you want.”

“No, I want to try, with you.”

Kid felt the burning need to make it good for Killer. He prepared Killer slowly with his right hand, nuzzling at Killer’s neck and cheek with his lips.

When Killer was breathing heavily and his eyes drifted closed, Kid slicked himself up and pressed himself slowly inside until he was settled balls deep.

"You good?" Kid asked.

Killer nodded, eyes still closed in concentration.

Kid held onto Killer’s thigh and started moving his hips. Kid stared mesmerized at the point of connection between them, his eager flesh sinking over and over into Killer.

Killer started masturbating, mouth slack and brows drawn into a hazy grimace.

So this is what he looks like when he’s being fucked, Kid thought, and had to gasp in a deep breath to stop himself from cumming too quickly.

He folded himself onto Killer, craving more contact. The new angle tore out a pleasured groan from Killer's throat and Kid's heart sang at his response.

Kid drove himself forward again, and again, just for the reward of that sound.

The headboard of the bed started thumping rhythmically into the wall, driven by the movement of the beast with two backs.

Killer’s head was thrown back, gasping with abandon. Killer's fingers clutched at the meat of Kid's shoulders hard enough to hurt. Kid loved it, wanted it to bruise. Kid wanted the whole crew and the whole world to know what they were, tomorrow. He buried his face onto Killer's neck and suckled hard at the skin.

When he felt himself getting close, Kid raised himself up again and took Killer’s dick in his hand to stroke him like Killer had stroked Kid the night before. He wanted to see Killer’s face when he came, and he wanted Killer to cum before he did.

The sight of Killer's face grimacing in pleasure, jets of cum landing across Killer's chest, seared itself into Kid's retina, the hottest fucking thing Kid would ever see in his life. He emptied himself into Killer right after, hips bucking uncontrollably in the aftershock.

Kid lay down and pressed his forehead to Killer’s. “It was good?” Kid couldn’t help making sure.

“Yeah,” Killer breathed, “just perfect.” He kissed Kid repeatedly. Kid knew that he would be there in the morning when they woke up, and many mornings afterwards as well.

* * *

Their new relationship didn’t change things all that much. It just felt like a small flame was inside of Kid at all times that warmed him up whenever he thought about it. 

Killer had brought in another one of the mirror contraptions and Kid was giving it an honest shot this time. It wasn’t as useless as he’d thought; he fancied it was helping to relieve the clenching sensation.

He was still finding workarounds for his daily activities. He’d changed his belt so he could go to the loo without having to unbuckle it every time. He’d gotten harnesses he could attach to the gym equipment so he could work out his upper body without being out of balance. He’d finally gotten a proper drafting table, with modified drafting machines attached, so he wouldn’t have to fuck around with rulers and other loose components.

Kid was beginning to work on a design for a metal prosthesis. The basic idea was that he would control it with his Devil Fruit powers. It would require him to train his abilities in a different way than before - his current Devil Fruit style really amounted to flinging a large amount of metal at maximum power. But he’d now have to learn to control multiple components precisely and in tandem; Kid was tentatively optimistic he was up to the task.

Killer came into the workshop to check in on him. He placed his hands on Kid's shoulders and pressed his smiling lips to Kid's.

Kid could never imagine tiring of Killer, his One Piece that had been there in plain sight all along.

They would still be stuck in limbo for a while, recuperating, but Kid was all right with it, as long as he could chart this unexplored territory with his partner in the meantime.


End file.
